What Feelings Sound Like
by CrystallineMaple
Summary: Need a dose of laughter, sadness, or, well, feelings? Here - a collection of Hetalia oneshots inspired by songs. Accepting requests. Chapter 5: Little Talks.
1. Demons

A/N: So these aren't songfics, but more of oneshots based off of songs, if you get my drift. If you have a song you want me to do I will be more than happy to! Just leave me a review saying the name of the song, the artist, basic info (will it be AU? Dark, perhaps? Pairings or no? etc.) and let's keep it rated T and under please!

* * *

**_ Demons_ - Imagine Dragons**

"I'm sorry. I thought you liked the color red."

"I do."

"Then don't you like it?"

"I do." Matthew sighed, trying to force the words from his lips, but they lacked conviction. He usually had emotion to spare, but now it was if everything had been drained from him. "I really like it, Ivan."

"Oh." The Russian smiled. Not his usual childish, cruel smile, but a shaky smile. An unsure smile. It was as if he could sense Matthew's lies. "I am glad."

Matthew picked up the scarf Ivan had knit him for the former's birthday. He did like the scarf.

But that wasn't the question here.

Ivan was asking, in an indirect way, if Matthew cared for him or not. And it would be easy, very easy - too easy, in fact - to simply leave Ivan and his habits and go back to France or America or even England if he wanted to.

"I'm going to watch the Olympics," Ivan said dully.

Matthew sat next to Ivan on the plush sofa. "I will watch them with you. Would you like a snack?"

"Alright, Matvey."

"Okay. I'll make some waffles. First I'm going to call Alfred."

Ivan nodded but didn't glance away from the television. However, Matthew got the impression Ivan wasn't really paying attention to the alpine skiing playbacks happening on screen. He was just pretending.

Matthew walked over to the kitchen and picked up his phone off the granite counter. He and Ivan... he didn't know. They were roommates, but when Ivan said he felt something more for Matthew...

The Canadian did not return the feelings.

No matter how you look at it, it was an awkward situation.

"Hey, Al," Matthew said, lowering his voice so Ivan wouldn't hear. Thankfully the cheering of crowds and comments from the announcer masked his already-quiet voice.

"Hey, little bro. Wassup?"

"Um, are you... do you... could I maybe stay with you for a little while?" When Alfred and Mattew were younger, maybe in their early teens, it seemed Alfred was always successful. To tell the truth, Matthew still sort of looked up to his older brother. Like, a lot.

"Nahh, man. I'm sorry, but the other night I got drunk, lost my money, and long story short, the landlord kicked me to the curb. I'm staying with Gilbert right now. Don't you have that roommate Evan or whatever?"

"Ivan," Matthew corrected, grabbing some waffle batter from a shelf. He felt like he had been stabbed. What happened to Alfred? "Um, sorry, but what happened to you?"

"Sorry, Mattie! But you can't always be relying on me for money, housing, etc.!"

"What?!" Matthew exclaimed indignantly. "I wasn't. But you always have it under control!"

Alfred laughed loudly, and for the first time, Matthew believed he could hear strains of club music pounding from the other end of the line. "Alright, Mattie, later! This hot girl just walked in - I'll talk to you tomorrow. Or whenever I get over my hangover!" Then, without another word, Alfred hung up.

Mattew felt lied to. His own brother, the very person he had been holding on a pedestal, was a douche who got drunk and gambled his money away. Alfred was only twenty-three. Or maybe that was the reason why he was so crazy.

Still, Matthew, who was nineteen, felt a pang of loneliness. Even if he had invitations to get drunk - no, even if he had friends - it wasn't like it would make a difference. He'd always be Matthew. He'd always be himself.

Matthew was not proud of his brother.

Never again would he drop his brother's name, least till the noisy partier got it together.

"Matvey, are you okay?"

"I - I'm fine." Matthew jumped slightly as Ivan approached from behind him. "You just surprised me."

"The food is burning."

"Oh! Oh, dear." Matthew grabbed the blackened waffles, took one look at them, and pegged them violently into the trash. He slumped onto the kitchen table, tears streaming down his face.

"Matvey! What's wrong?" In an instant, Ivan was kneeling next to the distressed Canadian, his violet eyes wide. "What happened, is Alfred okay?"

"A-Alfred's fine," Matthew hiccuped bitterly. "It's just... I feel like"- hic -"a failure... The job I tried to get the other day, I-I didn't get it. T-that was my last chance, Ivan..."

However harsh it was true. Matthew was struggling to make it as a young artist. He had had a huge chance to show off his work, but things shuffled around and the event failed miserably. Though he knew Ivan cared for him, they weren't rich. Their home was nice enough, but they didn't have excess money lying around. And now Alfred had basically abandoned them.

"Hush, Matvey, we'll be okay." Ivan cradled Matthew, who was sniffling uncontrollably, in his arms. Ivan grabbed Matthew's chin.

"Look at me."

Matthew's eyes slowly wandered to Ivan's, and the two were both shocked by what they saw in each other's eyes.

Ivan saw exhaustion glittering in Matthew's beautiful eyes, the type of exhaustion that beats you down, that grows legs and chases you. No one would deny the fact that Matthew was working like a dog to try to fulfill his dreams.

Ivan always loved Matthew's eyes. And his eyelashes, too. Once they had been watching a movie and Matthew had fallen asleep, Ivan had just simply looked at Mattew's sleeping face for a while, transfixed.

"I-Ivan," choked out Matthew. "I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry."

Ivan nodded once, exhaling slightly. He understood. He understood very well. Matthew did not return his feelings.

"And another devastating mistake for the Russian team!" the Olympic commentator shouted. Matthew flinched and grabbed the remote, switching the TV off.

Matthew was scared now. Ivan's eyes were flashing dangerously, too bright and alert for the early hours of the morning they were in.

"I'm sorry"- Matthew began again, but Ivan shook his head. "Matvey, just... stop. Please. Stop!" And then the 6'something man was crying, trembling, tears shimmering down his cheeks like a waterfall. His eyes were filled with heart-wrenching sadness.

"Ivan, I like you... as a friend... I apologize very much."

Ivan looked up at Matthew. Matthew jolted back. Ivan's eyes scared him. They really, really did. He eyed the knives in the cutting block on the counter then mentally scolded himself: Come on, Matthew, this isn't some crazy soap opera.

Ivan had already recovered from his emotional peak. He grabbed Matthew and embraced the shorter Canadian in a fleeting hug, sighed, then stepped back.

Matthew took a deep breath. He moved Ivan to the kitchen table, dried his own tears, and tried making the waffles again. Though the night had been terrible, the day long and the dark horrible, both Matthew and Ivan felt the tiniest spark of happiness.

Sitting at the table at three in the morning, eating waffles with maple syrup and wearing their scarves, it was not so bad.

"Maybe," Matthew said softly, "Maybe we could try this all again."

Ivan stood and held his hand out to Matthew, pulling the shorter one up. "It would be a pleasure, Matvey."

They walked off, Matthew to get his art supplies and Ivan helping him, their hearts free, their eyes light.

* * *

"You know," Ivan commented softly, "sometimes life gives you things you can not handle."

"Yes," Matthew replied.

"It will be hard," Ivan mused. "Sometimes we might not even make it."

Matthew accepted a stack of hundred dollar bills, handing the customer his painting in return. The painting was simple - the night sky over a beautiful house. The purple in the sky was the same as Ivan's eyes. The same color his eyes had been four years ago when Matthew had rejected the Russian.

Now _he_ was the one who was twenty-three. _He_ was making a name for himself instead of blowing away everything as his brother had done.

Matthew stood on his tiptoes, giving Ivan a light peck on the cheek, and said, "I know. And that's okay."


	2. Skinny Love

A/N: This one's for Raincatcher13! After this I'll be writing Mystery fan's requests (if you don't mind I think I'll write them all in one chapter and make them shorts?) Also, you guys, please only request one fic per chapter from now on? But I'm happy you all took interest in my writing, so thank you! Warning: cheesy, cliché drama ahead.

* * *

**_Skinny Love_ - (Cover by) Birdy**  
**Requested by Raincatcher13**

Fall is my favorite season. For one, the temperature isn't terrible, and if you want to take a walk outside, so be it. I think Raivis likes fall, too. I think we're becoming good friends!

You see, at the beginning of last school year, we both moved to the United States from obsolete little countries - him, Latvia, I, Liechtenstein (to which Alfred Jones once literally said, "That's not really a country. It's basically a gas station, a couple of hills, and a group of houses." Which, by the way, I find a bit offensive.), and we bonded quickly over this Ice Cream Social my high school held.

"Hello," I say, letting myself into his house. I have a key to his house because... well, we live on the same street, and his parents are very fond of me. I don't know. "Raivis? Mrs. Galante?"

His father isn't at the house much, but usually Mrs. Galante works from home and serenades me with offerings of sandwiches and apple juice the moment I walk through the door.

Raivis' house is very nice, but the silence is bothering me.

"Raivis," I try again, and I hear footsteps upstairs.

I take the stairs two at a time, glad I wore jeans and a cute top instead of my usual sundresses and skirts. The bathroom.

He's in the bathroom!

I pound on the door. I hear running water.

It's locked. This is not good.

"Raivis!" I screech as loud as I can. I pound on the door. When that fails, I back up a few steps and then run straight at the door, my foot up, and kick it open. When my brother, Vash, taught me to do break doors down, I never thought I'd actually use it. Now I'm glad. So glad.

The first thing I see is Raivis sitting on the edge of his bathtub, his cerulean eyes wide, a pill bottle in his hands.

"Put it down!" I screech, lunging at him. He tosses the bottle to one side in alarm and I careen into him, causing us to both fall into the inch and a half of frigid water that has been streaming in steadily via the faucet.

I splash around for a second, disoriented and dripping wet, until Raivis grabs me and helps me out of the tub.

"What were y-you t-thinking?" I demand. I can no longer be sweet and gentle like I always am. Despite the fact that I grab a towel off of a bar by the sink, I'm shivering like crazy and can't stop the tremor in my voice.

His voice is dull. "Can't you tell?" He doesn't meet my eyes. "Why are you here, Lilli?"

"I... we were supposed to meet up with Toris and Eduard to go the Halloween Festival!" I shake his shoulders. "Oh my gosh!"

"Sorry," he whispers, smiling.

"You dummy," I sob. "Raivis!" I think of all the memories I've had with him. Sitting in a bathroom, frozen and soaked and suicidal. Is this what all friendships eventually become? Pain and despair? I refuse to accept it! Instead, the timeline of our good, shiny moments are flashing through my head.

**And I told you to be patient**

"This is taking so long," Raivis complained. Well, not really complained, because he doesn't complain, but more of commented. He's not fond of waiting in lines. Nor am I, but at least I have him for company.

"Be patient," I said, smiling, tossing one of my golden braids over my shoulder. "Good things come to those who wait."

He smiled his nervous smile and said, "I guess ice cream is good."

He bought ice cream for the both of us - him, vanilla with fudge, and me, chocolate with sprinkles. I like sprinkles. They're so bright and happy looking!

Anyways, from the moment I saw him awkwardly brush the light hair out of his eyes as he handed me the ice cream cone - with the perpetually worried smile he always had - I knew, as much as my brother wouldn't approve, I was in love.

**And I told you to be fine**

A couple of months after I met Raivis, two other 'losers' at school started hanging out with us, too - Toris Laurinaitis and Eduard Von Bock. Toris was generous but nervous just like Toris, and Eduard was a little less willing to show that he was caring, but on the inside, of course he was.

We didn't go to any of Alfred Jones' parties, no sir. The four of us usually stayed in watching movies and ordering Chinese food.

It was okay with me, not having a social life. I didn't mind it. Vash, who was two year older, would always ask me how I was feeling.

I'm sure he thought I was depressed. No, I wasn't, never have been, either, but I suppose it looked that way to him.

That's what I told Raivis, too. He was frequently bullied by this transfer student at our school named Ivan. I would say, Just keep your head up, your eyes bright, your smile warm.

Love trumps all, and if you remember that, you will be fine.

**And I told you to be balanced**

Here's a memory that really sticks out to me: our first fight.

Hard to imagine, right? Him being so quiet, I, just plain Lili, being so sweet, how can we fight? It wasn't a screaming-and-yelling or kicking-and-hitting fight, but it was our own kind of fight, and that's what matters - if it hurts, it doesn't matter if other people understand it or not. Your heart is your own.

We were hanging out on a Friday afternoon, and he was upset because of Ivan's harassment.

"Oh, well, you could always tell someone," I said.

"I am, I'm telling you," he replied evenly, not glancing away from the television where we had been 'watching' some TV show.

"I know, but I mean, maybe, your mom or something"-

"No."

"Raivis, we aren't strong enough to take on Ivan alone, at least an adult could get him to stop beating you up. Besides, someone's going to notice the bruises on your arms someday. And what if he gets you in the face?"

"I'm handling it!" He insisted softly.

"But you're still getting hurt!" I exclaimed.

He narrowed his eyes. "Lilli, I'm fine! You don't always have to worry about me."

I worry because I care. I worry because I love you. "Okay," I said. "Just be careful. Find a balance between"-

"Please stop talking."

It stung when he said it. He didn't mean to hurt me. He did.

**And I told you to be kind**

The last memory I stumble across happened maybe a week ago.

Raivis and I were going to the movies. It was Saturday, and we had spent the previous hours at the park with Eduard and Toris, who had insisted we would make a cute couple. Raivis got adorably offensive, blushing and protesting. I laughed and told them to knock it off, but secretly I wished it were true.

We were waiting in line again (oh joy) and he asked me how I managed to be so nice all the time.

"I don't know," I said. "I guess I just am?"

He frowned. "If everyone were as nice as you..."

"Hey!" I laughed. "Don't be sad"- I grabbed his arm, and it happened. He flinched, hurt flashing in his eyes. I jolted away, my smile vanishing. "Are you alright?"

He forced a smile. "I'm okay. Ivan just got me there a few days ago. It's not a big deal."

I should have seen the signs.

And afterwards, he gave me his iPod, saying he didn't use it. But he used to listen to it every day.

I really should have known.

He was too kind, I was too kind, circumstance was too mean, and tragedy was doing nothing but being itself.

* * *

"Raivis!"

Mr. and Mrs. Galante both arrive shortly after I call them. They let me in the hospital room with Raivis.

"Lili, what happened?" Mr. Galante asks, turning to me after embracing his son.

"We were supposed to go to a Halloween Festival with Toris and Eduard," I explain. "So I stopped by to get him, and..." I trail off, wobbling on my feet.

"You should get home," Mr. Galante says. "You're tired, and I'm sure your parnents are worried. Get some rest and you can come back later."

"Okay, Mr. Galante. Bye, Raivis."

He mumbles a sleepy 'bye' and Mrs. Galante hugs me, sobbing.

I walk home, the fall air crisp on my face. I already told Toris and Eduard what happened, and they said they would stop by later.

I stop to grab the mail before walking inside and pull out an envelope addressed to me. No stamp, just my name, so it must have been dropped off by hand.

_Dear Lilli,_ it says. My heart races.

_I just wanted to let you know you've been a great friend. You're always so sweet and warm-hearted._

_I would never be able to say these things in real life, but now I'm a little glad I can tell you now._

_I'm sorry for what I'm going to do._

_I can't take it anymore._

_But I love you very much._

_There - I said it. The truth! I love you, I love you, I love you!_

_I have loved you since the moment I saw you, wearing a blue dress with your hair in your braids. I thought you were beautiful._

_You still are. I am sorry._

_I love you._

_Raivis_

That's it. I feel tears down my cheeks and I stand there, crying silently, until Vash comes out of the house, concerned, and guides me back inside.

I don't talk to him for a while after that. It's been a day, two days, a week until I see him again.

And it's at school.

Whispers down the hall, rumors, and unhappy-but-stable Raivis are all that remain of the horrific day.

"Raivis!" I say, not moving towards him. He looks up sadly and turns to walk away, obviously thinking I'm going to chide him or tell him we're not even friends anymore.

"I just wanted to say"- I draw in a breath, and that one moment, the single heartbeat, is so happy I feel lightheaded in a painful sort of way. Joyfully, wonderfully simple.

"I just wanted to say, I do, too!" I call, turning to walk the other direction. I can practically hear him putting things together, and with a smile on my face, I keep walking, waiting for him to catch up with me.

And of course he does.

**A/N 2:** Hmm. That wasn't as good as I had hoped it would be. It didn't fit the song, either, so I'm sorry. I'll try to make more of an effort next time. I had originally planned on killing off Raivis, but I just couldn't. You all understand, right? Next update coming soon!


	3. Mystery Compilation

A/N: Here you go, Mystery fan! Three shorts in one. NOTE: Please don't say "Oh, so-and-so is actually named whatever," because I'm going by the request that was left with me. Thanks!

**_You'll be in My Heart_ - Phillip Collins**

It was too fast, too bright, and too painful. One second you are fine. The next... the next you are not.

Angelique and Micheal were probably the closest you're going to get to perfect - ever. Michael was from Seychelles, the little remote island nation, and I met him on a business trip. We got married, and two years later, decided to get little Angelique.

The happiness, though, was severed shortly after we moved to France. Now don't get me wrong, of course I was happy to move back to my birth place after living in the United States for a couple of years, and even Micheal said France was almost as nice as Seychelles.

But it went wrong. Very wrong, three years after we moved to Paris.

"Francis, I'm going to the store," Madeline declared, my little sister, a citizen of Canada, the girl who loves - loved - polar bears and maple syrup. "Does someone want to come with me?"

"I will," Micheal offered.

And so it goes. That's what I'm told. Madeline was rounding the corner, and another car slammed into her, a drunk driver who had been paying no attention to anything whatsoever. He died, too.

So did Micheal and Madeline. Oh, it was terrible. So Angelique and I packed up our things and again tried to get a fresh start in London. She didn't remember very well.

I did, of course. If I hadn't, well, what sort of person would I be then?

It took a while, but I found a job; sent Angelique to school. And that is where I had my first run in with Arthur Kirkland.

Didn't feel like too long before the three of us - Arthur, Angelique and I - were moved in together. At this point, Angelique is five; we know this because her sixth birthday is in one week and she keeps screaming it, Arthur is asking won't you please stop it but she yells no, no and jumps up and dances, screaming, I will be six in less than a week.

This is when I snap my fingers in front of her face and tell her go calm down, why don't you be more polite?

She struggles too. She misses Micheal. She was three when he died. She didn't understand death. But the saddest moment... oh, it was... shortly after we had settled in London, she asked simply,

"What happened to Papa and Aunt Maddy? Where did they go? Don't they love me anymore?"

Angelique broke my heart then.

Another thing. I do love Arthur, very much, but at the same time, Micheal - I have love for them both.

In a different way now.

I know Micheal is waiting for me somewhere, waiting for me and Angelique and even waiting to meet Arthur, probably with Madeline. Probably in an eternal grocery store where they can run down the aisles and have all the maple syrup they want. The image brings a smile to my face.

Somewhere they're safe, safe and always in my heart.

* * *

**_Follow Me_ - Muse**

Erika wasn't much of a worrier. She had seen it all - living with her older brother (and his impressive collection of firearms) in Switzerland growing up hadn't been easy.

She didn't like easy. So she decided to become a nurse. It wasn't easy, it wasn't always fun, but it was definitely worth it.

Until that fateful December day when they brought in the Asian man - Chinese, Erika assumed, and her thoughts were confirmed when the eighteen-year-old nurse heard the victim's name.

Yao Wang. There it is - he, I suppose - Yao, sleeping, Yao, probably going to die.

"He going to be okay?"

Erika blinked, realizing she had been on the brink of tears just looking at Yao. She turned to Elizaveta, her friend and fellow nurse. "I don't know," Erika replied honestly. "He's in a coma. But... Don't you have someone you should be watching?"

"Oh, sweetie, Roderich's fine. I gave him some ice chips and he's resting." Elizaveta waved a hand.

The night went on. People stayed around for the whole night, not for Yao, but for their own patients, and Erika was glad she wasn't alone.

It was two in the morning when Erika woke up. Guiltily, she realized she had fallen asleep.

"Excuse me...?"

"Yao!" Erika exclaimed, eyes widening. She lightly hugged him, then backed away, realizing he was probably disoriented and that was a total no-no anyway. "Sorry."

"Okay," he said softly.

Erika smiled, tearing up. She had grown attached to this man, and he hadn't uttered but three words to her.

But he was alive.

Elizaveta, a bemused expression on her face, stood in the doorway. "Nice, Mr. Yao. You followed Erika back into the world." She smiled. "I think some friends are here to see you. Take it easy."

Yao grabbed Erika's hand, his voice fierce. "Thank you."

"Oh, no problem," Erika said. "I was just"- Just doing my job. But that didn't seem to be the right thing to say. Definitely not.

"Just trying my best."

Not much better, but Yao smiled. "You and I both, aru."

* * *

**_Lucy_ - Skillet**

_September 16th, dear diary,_

_Today, I asked Uncle Feli an important question! That bastard answered all right. Also he brought chocolates! Okay, bye._

_From, Chiara_

•••

"Come on, Feli. Stop being such a wuss. She obviously likes you back. Tell you what, idiot - if you haven't called her by the time I finish cooking this fettuccini, I'll kill you. With a fork. It'll hurt like hell, oh..."

"Come on," I tease, "you haven't asked out that cute Spanish girl you like..."

He glowers. But even with Lovino glowering down my back and tossing out empty threats like knives, I couldn't summon the courage to pick up the phone. Things almost as important as pasta were at stake!

It was Monika Beilschmidt, honestly. I don't know how it happened, but somehow I fell in love with her. It helped that we were planning to go the same University (by coincidence) after high school. Just one year away and I'd be graduating.

True, she was stronger and scarier than me, but I loved her dearly.

It's all Alfred's fault. Alfred Jones. No, he didn't steal Monika or anything.

He had a party.

Now, you're probably thinking I'm being ridiculous. Why would I be mad that Alfred Jones had a party?

I'm not mad about the party.

I'm mad because there were about four kegs and dozens of other seniors in our class doing kegs stands. But alcohol doesn't bother me. Lovino and I often share wine.

So what is the problem?

Good question, Chiara. I turn to my little niece. It's hard, I say, I can't fall in love. Because Monika was driving to Alfred's house - an hour late, because she had beginner piano lessons - but going to a party nonetheless.

And someone coming from the party at the same time was drunk.

Turn. Collision. Fire. That's how it was explained to me, and it's how I explain it to Chiara. That's why I can't love anyone.

I never got to confess my feelings to Monika, because she died.

I hate myself.

_•••_

_September 17th, dear diary,_

_I have been thinking about what Uncle Feli told me, about Monika, yesterday. Screw it._

_It's terrible. Everyone should get a chance to love! Even if just for a time, you should know what it feels like._

_A warm feeling in your chest. Painful, almost, but joyous. Oh, but what do I know about love?_

_All I know is everyone deserves a second chance, but we won't always get a second chance. Uncle Feli, six years later, is still devestated. The fact something (love) can do that to you... Well, Diary, it's a little scary._

_I have loved people that much. I love Papa and Uncle Feli. I would cry if they died. But why can't Uncle Feli love anyone anymore? I still don't understand._

_From Chiara_

I happened to stumble upon Chiara's old diary and this was the page I flipped to.

Chiara is grown up now. This diary must be ten years old - and I'm sure if she saw me reading it she'd yell curse words at me. She takes after her father.

Chiara's moved on. I haven't. Why not?

But today... today is Monika's birthday. I haul to the graveyard and lay roses just like I do every year.

"Feliciano."

I look up, but whoever said my name... has vanished.

I smile. It almost sounded like Monika herself.

**a/n: okay, Mystery fan, I think my writing sucked in all of these, but I did try. Please enjoy...?! Also what's my deal with car crashes? o_o**


	4. Thnks Fr Th Mmrs

And this is for you, TomatoflavouredVodka! I'm doing Little Talks next, thanks Snow Angel for being understanding and all. Enjoy, I had issues writing this but I still hope it's okay! (Also, this doesn't apply to TomatoflavouredVodka at all, but for those of you out there who are expecting lemons, I don't write 'em, sorry!)

**_Thnks Fr Th Mmrs_ - Fall Out Boy**  
**(Thanks for the Memories)  
Requested by TomatoflavouredVodka**

_So. Bored._ I sigh and set the tea I've been sipping on on the table. I suppose you could say I'm in a... depression...? No, that's much too strong of a word. Rut would be better. Ah, yes. Very good word choice. I, Arthur Kirkland, am in a rut, and not a good one.

My phone starts blasting American Idiot and flashes a picture of my boyfriend, Alfred Jones, who I met at the café I work out. He's loud, flirtatious, and acts like an imbecile, but he's quite fond of me.

"Hello, Alfred."

"Hey, dude! Sooo I was just wondering if you wanted to go to the movies! That really cool new one about, like"-

I quickly accept. "Sure. Yeah."

"Okay, well, my shift doesn't end till 6:00, so I'll meet you there then, okay?"

"Okay. See you then."

I hang up and grab my jacket. It's only 4:30, but I figure it'll take maybe a half an hour to get there and I can kill time until six. It's not that hard.

"Arthur, where are you going?"

"To the movies, mum," I reply. "You know Alfred Jones, right?"

My mom laughs and nods. "Yes, he's quite a handful. I know you two are close friends, so have fun, sweetie!" she quickly pecks me on the forehead. "Well, I might as well get some shopping done."

I feel guilty, really, I do. My parents don't know I'm dating Alfred, really they don't know and if they found out I was dating him - or _any guy_ - they'd probably kick me out of the house. They like Alfred, but not _that_ much, not enough to tolerate him dating their son. And they don't even know he's my second boyfriend. I used to date a guy named Antonio Fernandez Carriedo, someone I met last year at school, and things ended badly.

It's raining, so I grab my umbrella and arrive at the movies at 5 on the dot.

I'm walking around the lobby when I bump into someone. "Oh, pardon m - shit."

"Hello, Arthur! Did you miss me?" It's Antonio.

He looks happy to see me, but honestly, I want to run outside and crawl under a bush. I don't care that it's raining. It'll be better if I get pneumonia and die than have to talk to Antonio. He's so oblivious, though, I don't think anything's bothering him.

"I, uh, movie?"

He laughs. "Aww. So, how has life been?"

I recover my wit. "It's fine. Really. And you." It's not really a question, and I put as much disgust in my voice as I can manage. It's a struggle. "How are, uh, how are you?"

Antonio smiles. "I'm good! But I've been feeling lonely."

_Good God, Alfred, hurry up!_

However, a quick glance at my watch mockingly states that it's only 5:09, and I have fifty-one more minutes to wait, which isn't a promising deal anywhere. "I have to get going," I stammer, turning away before he can see I'm turning red in the face.

"Why don't you come over to my house?"

I turn to him, shocked. There's no way he's serious, no way, and if he is serious, this is not going to end well at all.

"Sorry, I said I had somewhere to be, didn't I?" I bark out, a little louder than necessary; several people look over, eyebrows raised, and don't turn away until I drop my eyes and shuffle my feet awkwardly. He leans so close to my ear I can feel him there and I shiver.

"If you come over, I'll tell you a secret."

I am a terrible person, because in that moment, I forget all about Alfred who I should be meeting in fifty-one - no, fifty - minutes. I close my eyes, nod, and walk outside with Antonio, the rain soaking my skin.

* * *

"Where were you?"

"I, oh, I'm late, aren't I?" I laugh nervously.

I'm sure Alfred can see my guilt. Can't he?

"Yeah..." he looks over at me. "You're acting really strangely, dude. You okay?"

"I... yeah..." I don't meet his icy blue eyes because then I'm positive he'll know everything I did.

He'll hate me for it.

He'll leave me like Antonio did.

"Did you do something, Alfred?"

"What? Alfred, wh"- Even I can hear the fear in my voice. It's not fake.

"Did you do something behind my back?"

I don't say anything.

"Someone else... right? You were with someone else. Don't you"-

"I - no - I'm sorry, I'm sorry"-

Alfred's eyes meet mine, but he doesn't look like his goofy, energetic self, he looks hollow, empty, like everything has been drained from him. He turns and walks out into the rain, and I know even if I try to explain that the idiotic Spaniard I was with means nothing to me - _nothing_ - he will not understand. No matter what I tell him, it'll hurt, and I really can't blame him. I just went and cheated on him. I'm in no position to expect leniency.

But still, I'm human, and I'm greedy, so I do.

"Wait!" I exclaim, but stop when my phone chimes. I take it out and find a single text from Antonio.

_-thnks fr th mmrs, arthur_

The line infuriates me. No amount of memories would be worth this. Not the time Antonio and I got ice cream and then it started snowing. Not the time we pranked Francis Bonnefoy and Gilbert Beilschmidt and they got chased by the cops. Not the time we had out first kiss. None of it is worth it. I have a bone to pick with this guy.

But I never got the chance to tell Antonio any of this, because it turns out the only reason he invited me over was because he and his family were moving back to Spain. I wasted my relationship with Alfred for nothing, absolutely nothing, because Alfred dumped me and I couldn't even grieve over it at home because then Mum would ask me what was wrong and then what would I tell her?

Really, it's not all Antonio's fault, but he was the cause of everything. I didn't show self-control, but it was because of him.

It doesn't matter. I can try to forget.

I can try to pretend. It doesn't work. Memories will be memories, so yes, thanks a lot.

Thanks for the memories, Antonio, even though they're not good ones.

* * *

**A/N: Okay, I know it's pretty bad, but I just... um... sorry? It was difficult for me, ah. *hides in a bush***


	5. Little Talks

A/N: Geez, it's been forever since I've updated this thing. Sorry! Anyways, I've been promising Snow Angel this one for a while, so here you go! NOTE: I suck at writing romantic stuff, so please don't, uh, harshly hate this chapter.

**_Little Talks _****- Of Monsters and Men  
Requested by SnowAngel **

The Sleigh and the Cherry Tree

"Good night," whispered Belarus, blowing her candle out so the room was dark and diving under her quilt. She waited until she heard Ukraine disappear down the hallway before burying her head in her pillow and sobbing. It just wasn't fair. None of it was fair. Another day of rejection.

Another day of not being good enough.

She was so loyal to Russia. She loved him more than anyone - anyone! - yet he only had eyes for that capitalistic pig and that despicable panda-obsessed rice-harvester - well, of sorts - and it just _wasn't fair. _

"Damn! Why me?!" she sobbed, pummeling her pillow. "Why doesn't anyone love me?! Why is this happening?" She threw herself down on the bed and slammed her head against the wooden headboard. It hurt - a lot - and she was stunned for a moment. She didn't move, just laid on the bed, staring out the window, watching the snow drift down. With her head tilted at the angle it was at, with the snowflakes outside, she felt as if she were in a sleigh.

The creaking stairs caught her attention. Any serenity she had felt vanished, and she sat up, drawing the quilt around her shoulders. "Who's there?" she barked.

"Miss Belarus?"

_Oh, great._ Belarus scowled. Not that idiotic Lithuanian man! "Go away!" she snapped. "I don't need you here."

"I'm sorry," came the voice. Pause. "May I come inside, Miss Belarus?"

"I said go. _Away!"_ she snarled, moving her hand to her bedside table, closing her fingers around a black-handled knife. It would be easy to hit on target, even in the dark.

He came inside anyway, and driven by fury, Belarus threw the knife. It didn't hit the Baltic nation, but it impaled itself in the door next to his head. He cringed but made no move to leave.

"You idiot," she growled. "Why aren't you leaving? You must be very, very stupid."

"I am not, Miss," he said, "but I want to comfort you."

She laughed sharply. "Stupid indeed."

Lithuania frowned. "I heard you crying, Be"- he didn't get to finish his sentence, because Belarus had already grabbed him and thrown him down on the bed. She held her fingers against his throat.

"I do not cry," Belarus whispered, her voice menacing.

He nodded. "I don't think you should ever have to cry, Belarus. I love you."

"I hate you!" she screamed, grabbing him by the tie and throwing his head down. He hit his head on the headboard just the same way she had, and he landed the same way, too, staring out the window.

Tears brimmed on Lithuania's eyes and threatened to spill over. Would he ever be good enough for the one person he loved?

Belarus suddenly felt her heart soften a degree. "It's like a sleigh, isn't it?"

He murmured a hushed reply cautiously.

"Isn't it beautiful? Don't you wish you were really in a sleigh?"

"I wish I were in a sleigh going somewhere away from here," he said honestly. "I wish I were in a sleigh going somewhere and taking you with me."

Surprisingly, Belarus felt... happy. She knew Lithuania loved her. He made that quite obvious, and he was very persistent about it. But she had never really... _known _it in the way you _know _something. Now she felt as if she did. "I would go with you," she whispered.

Lithuania turned his head and looked up at her, still standing next to her own bed and looking out the window at the gentle snow tumbling down from the dark sky.

"Y-you would?"

She gave the tiniest of nods. "Where I would go in the sleigh... there would be no sadness."

Lithuania dared to grab her hand. She did not protest. "Only love," he added. "No more killing people."

"I feel terrible," she said, "that I have done so many bad things." She did not clarify, but he could guess what she meant. But just being a country meant you were bound to do a lot of 'bad things', because that was what being a country meant. It was not glorious and it was not worth it. It was doing bad things, being bad things.

"We have all done bad things."

Belarus sat down next to him. Lithuania did not move a muscle, hardly daring to breathe, still laying in the same spot where he had landed after hitting his head.

"There would be no bitter cold," she considered finally.

He smiled. She was indulging in his thoughts. "There would be a beautiful cherry tree we could sit under every day."

"We could have long conversations about things," she murmured, lying down next to him.

Lithuania could not believe it. Belarus was chatting with him. She was lying right beside him. He would remember this forever.

"They would be our little talks."

She grinned, looking up at him. "You care about me?"

"More than anything," he replied.

"Then we could."

Lithuania felt his heart stop. "I - I beg your pardon?"

"We could run away in a sleigh and build a house made of dreams with a cherry tree in the backyard. We could have our little talks, just like when I was young. Just like what we're doing now."

The brunet had no response. He did not move. _Heaven._ He was in heaven.

After a long time, he whispered, "Belarus? I love you."

No reply. The Eastern European nation had fallen asleep in his arms.

* * *

The next day was just like any other day. Lithuania had woken up in Belarus' room. She had already risen and gone who-knows-where. Lithuania swallowed his disappointment and busied himself with doing the laundry, cleaning the house with Estonia and Latvia - who kept throwing him questioning looks - and cooking dinner.

"Excuse me, Miss Ukraine, where is Miss Belarus?" Lithuania asked the oldest Slavic sibling quietly. He did feel comfortable talking with her, though, because she usually didn't flip her emotions on a switch like her younger family members.

She frowned. "She left late, late last night," Ukraine said. "I don't know what she was doing, only that she looked happy."

Lithuania set the table, and as he and the other Baltics were sitting down to eat, a little note fell out of his napkin.

A tiny white card.

Curious, Lithuania opened it, and a shower of cherry blossom petals rained down from the paper. Written in the middle of the card in unmistakably feminine handwriting was:

_Someday, Toris, we'll have our little talks again._

_-Natalia Arlovskaya_


End file.
